Bang-Bang!
by MLaw
Summary: It's re-certification time at the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement. Pre-saga Rest in Peace Robert Vaughn! You will be sorely missed.


It was that time of year that UNCLE field agents detested; it was time for recertification.

Not only were their weapons and explosive skills tested; their ability to fly helicopters and planes were examined. Physical fitness tests were given, as well as field tests in swimming, diving, skiing, running ...just about anything one could think of that was required of a Section II agent.

Most agents aced their certification, though some didn't and were barely cleared by the skin of their teeth.

Those agents were in jeopardy of finding themselves demoted to Section III if they didn't pass their retests with flying colors. Given the mortality rate of a Section II agent, the Command couldn't really afford to demote anyone from the field unless absolutely necessary.

The best of the best like Napoleon Solo and his Russian partner, Illya Kuryakin had no worries, nor did any of the agents who were considered in the top ten.

Today Solo, Kuryakin, Slate and Dancer along with several other agents were at the firing range located deep within the bowels of UNCLE headquarters in New York City, there to finish up the last of their recertifications.

They each stepped up to their respective tables, and as soon as the signal was given they emptied the magazines of their UNCLE Specials...nine rounds fired in rapid succession, into the targets that were set at one hundred-fifty yards.

The four aced their test, hitting the targets with quick and deadly accuracy, though none of them received a perfect score.

April and Mark disappeared before they were told they had to take yet another test, instead choosing to head to the office they shared, hoping there was an assignment waiting there for them; if not then at least some paperwork to do.

Agent Kit Kittridge was the last agent up and stood at his table, wearing his protective earmuff headphones. He adjusted his stance, using a two-handed grip and fired off the nine rounds.

The target, a silhouetted figure, was returned to the carousel for the examiner to check it over.

Together they stepped off to the side, while removing their hearing protection. The examiner handed Kit a chart, indicating issues with his shooting.

"You're shots are landing mostly at 5 o'clock... low and to the right, and since the sight on your gun has already been checked, we know that's not the cause. I observed that you tend to tighten your grip while pulling the trigger. Now that you've been made aware of the problem, you should be able to correct it and pass your recertification."

"Crikey, can I do it now Mr. Wilkins?"

"No, there's others waiting, so you'll have to get back in the queue and wait your turn again."

Kittridge gave an audible sigh, flaring his nostrils as he glared at Wilkins. He wouldn't be permitted back in the field unless he passed.

"Keep up that attitude and you'll find yourself in Section III faster than you can blink."

"Yes, sir. Sorry sir," Kit's face flushed with embarrassment.

As Solo and Kuryakin walked along the carousel, they spotted a different weapon sitting at the table in the last booth. It was a .22 Ruger Mark I target pistol, along with a box of rounds for a long rifle? Beside it was a yellow cardboard gun box; it bore the red phoenix logo of the Sturm, Ruger & Company. Sitting there as well was the booklet for the gun.

"Whose is that?" Napoleon asked, seeing no one in sight. He peeked at the target that was hanging there in front of the table, having been automatically been brought back after the shots were completed.

"I thought recertification was with only the Special," Illya commented.

"Quite right," Alexander Waverly stepped up behind his agents. He took down the target, studying it for a moment.

"Hmm, one shot low and to the left."

"Beg pardon sir but that round is just on the line and counts as a bull's eye. All the shots were grouped quite well, not to mention an excellent grouping to the head," Illya commented..

"On the line doesn't count in my book young man."

"Sir, it's still great shooting. Which agent was it?" Napoleon asked. "Though I'm surprised a target pistol was permitted."

"Oh quite correct Mr. Solo, it isn't." Waverly quietly sent out another target, picked up the Ruger and fired, emptying the magazine. Nine hits, this time all dead center within the bull's eye.

"Wonderful weapon just to keep up one's accuracy. It was a gift from my friend Boudreau at Sturm Ruger. I like to air it out now and then just to keep myself up to snuff. Certification time seemed like an opportune time to me," The Old Man winked as he gathered up his gun, and the targets. "Good to see I haven't lost my touch."

"Yes sir, that was excellent shooting," Napoleon commented.

A man of Waverly's age, pulling out a gun a few times a year and still able to use it it with such deadly accuracy; how was that possible? He only hoped he was as good as Waverly when he reached the same age...that was if he did.

"I suggest by your results gentlemen that you get in a few more practice sessions. Though you passed your certification, your results were shall we say….were less than stellar. I trust you'll both rectify that. Good day Mr. Solo, Mr. Kuryakin."

"Well don't that beat all," Napoleon whispered out of the side of his mouth to Illya. He turned, seeing his partner had stepped into a booth and had laid his gun on the table while a target was sent out.

Napoleon tapped him on the shoulder, knowing the protective headphones his partner was wearing would prevent him from hearing.

Kuryakin removed the covering from his right ear.

"What are you doing Illya, you're certified?"

"Following Mr. Waverly's instructions, as should you. And now I suspect we have apparently been put in the position of setting examples for the other field agents."

Solo bit his bottom lip. "You know you're right."

"How about a wager, best out of three and loser buys dinner?" Kuryakin called out.

"You're on tovarisch," Napoleon instantly regretted agreeing to that as when it came to free food, Illya wouldn't lose...he never did.

Solo pulled on his headphones, and stepped up to the table in the booth beside the Russian. Just as he took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. the signal to begin firing was given… maybe, just maybe Kuryakin might not win this time.


End file.
